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Fuckin' encrusted testicle, my boy. You look like a double-dip chocolate chip. Glist-lip charcoal, slim-chew with a garg-a-monose, and Mr. Garga Hunchback. No fuckin' feet, nine arms, seven stomachs, two ball fagers. Step that beach to the roof, a ball bat. You cook up into a ball like an autistic back-a-guard. You live in a sophisticated mud hut. Your washing machine has a bucket of water you shake, and now you brush your teeth with your grandpa's back scratcher Are you flushing?